


Just Lose It

by infiniteworld8



Series: After Tarsus [7]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Confusion, Depression, Disturbing Themes, Dysfunctional Relationships, Gen, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mental Health Issues, Sexual Confusion, Sexual Experimentation, Shame, Tarsus IV, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 09:17:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3129248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteworld8/pseuds/infiniteworld8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk is a rake, a man-whore, lover of many...famous for his exploits, but the reasons for his uninhibited behavior go a lot more deeper than most people realise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Lose It

**Author's Note:**

> Possibly disturbing subject matter...

It’s just a body, it’s just his body. That’s what he tries to think as he moves in time with the woman writhing under him. She’s starting to gasp tiny breathes of air puff out warm and sweet against his bare chest. He nearly makes it but before they can go all the way he moves off her pulling his shirt back on, tugging his pants up and buckling his belt. He can’t even begin to make an excuse so he just runs.

He feels sick as he backs out the room. What’s wrong with him? Shouldn’t he like this?

He finds a bar, flashes a fake ident code and sets out to get drunk. A man or woman, he isn’t sure of the gender or even if the alien has a specific one winks at him and the next few minutes pass in a drunken blur until he’s kissing cool lips in a hazy back hall, he’s a little better at it this time...

But he still backs away as the kissing turns into caresses and the caresses began to turn into something else.

Over the next few weeks the faces blur as he moves from person to person, getting a little better each time. Until finally months later he’s sprawled on the floor in a drugged out hazed with four people around him whose faces he can’t even remember. It’s dark but even so he can see their state of undress and his own that he’s finally broken the barrier, he knows that even if he can’t remember it all.

And a part of him revolts at what he’s done. But it’s not like he’s a virgin, he hasn’t been that way since he was thirteen and a kid on Tarsus (unless you count Frank’s “punishments” and he really doesn’t want to think about Frank or what he did.) His own body had been one of the first _and_ last things taken from him but just as surely as all the other things he’s lost he lost that too. Now, he convinces himself it doesn’t matter as he stands and pulls on clothes that are tacky with others body fluids. He convinces himself that he doesn’t care about the half-remembered memories of what he did hours...or was it moments before.

He wanted to enjoy it.

He wanted to feel good.

He wants to convince himself that he wanted it.

And he wants to gag . Instead he moves out the room, only vaguely surprised to see drugged up people humans and aliens, passed out in the halls. It’s supposed to be an overnight school field trip and he knows his mother would be horrified if she knew where he was or what he’s done, but a large part of him doesn’t care. She’s always horrified with him. He’s still wobbly from the drugs he’s taken and the hypo marks itch along his arms just as the bite marks now turning to bruises hurt on his neck and shoulders.

He gets back to the hostel they’re staying at and even though it’s late at night the other teens are still up, and impromptu party has started, sips of some sure to be alcoholic beverage are going around and music is booming in the air,

Someone notices him, “Where were you?”

“Out” He doesn’t bother to elaborate.. They’re not supposed to be out after dark but the chaperone on the trip has left for the night after extracting a promise from her charges that they would behave themselves... She knows their words are false just as they know she’s skipped off to be with her boyfriend instead of watching them like she’s supposed to.

“Doing what?

Kirk gives a sick grin and let’s that and his next words say it all. “More like who.”

He lets the comment linger, behind him he can here the snickers and comments of the other boys in the group. The vulgar words behind him grow loud as they in loud and obnoxious detail begin guessing what happened. Somebody passes him in the hall and gives him a high five, but Kirk doesn’t really feel like celebrating.

He’s not sure exactly what he feels.

Kirk goes upstairs and showers desperately scrubbing his skin to try and feel clean. When he comes out one of his classmates is waiting for him. He knows her the rumours of what she does are legendary, supposedly there isn’t any boy in the upper grades who she isn’t intimately familiar with ...she’s grinning at him now and as he walks by gives him a wink and then a pinch. She’s slightly drunk and he’s still a whole lot high and together that’s ton more inhibition than either of them need.

He knows what’s next and plays long, and after it’s over...he feels confused and used. A small part of him is riding an adrenaline high, but the other just feels dirty. Kirk convinces himself that it doesn’t matter. He should like it so he does at least that’s why he tries to think.

XXXX XXXX

He gets a reputation, Kirk... the man whore, the stud, the Casanova... Anywhere anytime he’s ready and willing. He laughs when people say as much but inside...he’s not laughing.

Casey Wilchert late afternoon in the history classroom.

Morgan Fuller behind the gym.

Liri Ul somewhere neither of them can remember.

Each time it gets a little better and a little worse. Months later He no longer feels a guard’s sweaty body against his own, or wants to break the fingers of the person gripping his skin and moaning, but instead he feels a loss of himself.

Being with another person gives him a purpose, and makes him feel needed, wanted , loved. But he knows there something wrong with going to a different body every night. He knows there something wrong when he doesn’t give a care who that the person is anymore and just cares that the action is just one of the few things in his repertoire that makes him lost enough to forget.

Over the years he feels more slutty than any prostitute ever could and still he keeps going, night after night person after person, species, gender, even age (as long as their legal) not being held into account. Every person he meets he can’t help flirting with and more often than not the flirting goes farther...he’s out of control and yet he can’t stop. And it’s not something he even wants to do anymore it’s just something that he needs. Like a way to blot everything that happened out by overwriting each event, multiple times.

XXXX XXXX

He’s sixteen and the galaxy is definitely not forgiving. She’s some older woman at a bar, and she likes him...he’s half drunk already and thinks maybe he could like her too.

Next thing he knows, it’s all a lie and he’s waking up to something he never wants to remember but can’t help...because it’s the same story only a little different each and every day after that. It’s like being back on Tarsus again...doing anything for food...or being back in that cell again with sadistic guards...but the people who keep him and the others are better marginally...maybe...at least he’s too high to care...

Except when’s he’s not.

_The hands are cold and hot at the same time, like fire and he just wants them to stop touching him...._

_Fifty credits this time, not sure if it’s Orion or Regellian or whatever but it’ll never be enough ...not for this..._

_Warm lips on his, sweat on his skin, musk in his nose and the acidity of bile in his mouth..._

He likes it better, when he’s drugged...then it doesn’t hurt so much.

XXXX XXXX

He gets out, and things go back to being the same...except they are even more screwed up....he’s eve more screwed up.

He just won’t admit it.

He’s got to be okay, nothing’s changed and each new conquest is like an affirmation to himself that he’s okay.

He’s not.

He’s not okay.

Waking up to a warm bed with someone he barely knows hurts him just as much as walking up alone. In fact it probably hurts more. Holding somebody in his arms that he barely knows is just as bad as waking up with nothing but nightmares for company.

As long as he acts like everything is okay then maybe...just maybe it finally can be. He finds the technique and perfects it until it’s a honed weapon. Something he can use to fight the memories plaguing him. He knows how to seduce but close the door to other expectations. . He knows how to charm but not form an attachment. He knows how to be a lover and not beloved.

It’s easier that way...when it’s just a body and he’s just a body. Everything’s mechanical and he can pretend that he’s having a lot more fun then he actually is.

It’s what people expect ...everybody wants something and so he gives himself.

After all he’s not worth much anyway.

XXXX XXXX

It’s six years later and he’s twenty two. They’ve been in the bar for at least four hours. McCoy has complained and almost sulkily sat in a corner nursing his second drink and Kirk’s gone through at least five times that number of drinks and half that amount of people. He finally saunters back to his friend with a grin on his face and a slight swagger to his gait. He winks at the blond in the short dress as he passes her and gives her betazoid friend another appreciative once over because he can. He’s feeling good as he sits down at the table and says to McCoy, “we can go now.”

“Oh, really? You’ve finally decided you’ve had enough?”

“I can never have enough Bones, but best to leave them wanting more and...it’s getting late and there’s classes early tomorrow..”

“Like you care about class...”

Bones isn’t in a good mood, he’s had a total of two classes involving a shuttle flight earlier that day and is still decidedly angry at Kirk for not only continually pestering him during said shuttle flights but then having the nerve after class to drag him out to yet another club when they both should be studying but Kirk is feeling too good to let it bother him. He winks at his friend as they both stand and starts walking toward the door. “There’s a certain language student there and I just might—“

He’s cut off by McCoy—who really isn’t in a good mood—“ I think Uhura has better sense than to go out with you, class slut and stuck up language major don’t sound like a good pair to anyone with a brain.” Kirk freezes for just a half second as the word slut hits him like a slap in the face. He remembers the same phrase whispered into his ears , years ago. _“You’re just a little slut aren’t you boy? That’s why you’re not telling isn’t it? You look forward to this.”_?He shivers at the phantom fingers trailing down his spine.

McCoy’s half joking, half serious, but either way not intending to be mean...mostly. McCoy continues oblivious to Kirk’s reaction as his friend catches himself and follows the doctor into the night. “What’s that five more on your tally tonight? Twenty total this week? Grand total of 100 this year? I’d really love to know what got you started on this whole anybody anywhere anytime thing” He continues his steady litany of increasingly more biting comments. “Your fucking horny ass is enough to give a Orion brothel a run for its money.”

The Orion Brothel comment causes Kirk to flinch, but McCoy continues ranting oblivious.

The doctor’s in a really bad mood. It starts raining outside and McCoy swears as fat raindrops crash down around them. Kirk’s gone quiet and pale. He’s used to being called a rake, a Casanova, even a man whore, but the way McCoy’s phrased it hits him in a way the comments never have before. Suddenly all the face he can remember and bodies of those who faces he can’t start to flash through his mind. Times where he was a willing participant and those in which he later convinced himself that he was (because then at least he wasn’t a victim) flash through his mind. He feels sick at the thought of what he’s done...because somewhere along the road he crossed the line too much and lost himself.

McCoy finally realizes something is off as Kirk continues walking alongside him, but entirely too quiet. He half turns then stops as he catches sight of his friend’s face. Kirk tries to continue walking, but McCoy grabs his shoulder stopping him.

“What’s wrong Jim.”

“Nothing.” He starts to walk past again but the doctor isn’t moving.

“You’re not replying with one of your asshole remarks and you look like shit right about now, so something is wrong.”

“Nothing—“ Kirk tries to lie again, but McCoy isn’t having it finally he blurts out, because he knows McCoy will believe it about him, after all that’s what he’s known for overindulging...”I might have drank too much.”

The doctor accepts the admittance, because even though he’s seen his friend’s alcohol tolerance, he also has seen how many drinks he consumed tonight.

They make it back to the dorm, and Kirk endures the skimmer ride there, growing quieter and paler by the minute as he’s revisited by memories he thought he had long forgotten.

They start to go their separate ways and McCoy hitches his bag up on his shoulder and rolls his eyes to Kirk’s comment of “see you later Bones, get some sleep.” And McCoy counters with his own remark of, it’s bitchy and angry and McCoy gets like that when’s he’s pissed. Kirk knows it, in fact he’s joked more than a few times in the past that his friend sometimes sounds like an old woman. But this time the words hurt...a lot. “Yeah, whatever. What don’t you try to get back to your dorm room without stopping for a lay with somebody else.”

Kirk forces himself to smile in his classic-devil may care way , but inside he’s feeling really sick. McCoy shakes his head as he starts to turn away, but he isn’t finished yet. “God damn it if I didn’t know better I’d say you had a past life as a hooker.”

And that’s the stone that breaks the dam he’s been trying to hold back. He can’t even remember the faces of the people back at the bar. All he can remember is sweaty skin, hot breath, a twist of limbs, and warm flesh pressed against his own but it’s still five bodies too many. Any pleasure he might have felt is overshadowed by the memory of what he’s done, what happened to him and how he’s never spoken a word to tell anybody. His skin suddenly feels hot and sweaty, his stomach is twisting and everything seems really, really loud.

McCoy is already turning away when he hears a retch behind him and finds Kirk doubled over throwing up, rather violently. Like he’s suddenly so sickened by something and can’t keep it in anymore.

McCoy waits until the retching has subsided into weak gasps and then drags his friend up. He’s complaining the entire time he supports him back to his dorm room and lets him sleep on the couch with a rubbish bin nearby.

Kirk finally falls asleep still being lectured on the dangerousness of alcohol poisoning, the importance of personal responsibility, and not abusing the privilege of having a doctor as a friend. When he wakes up he lets McCoy ply him with hangover remedies and let’s a really bad headache be the excuse for why he’s running to the bathroom to throw up for half the day or so pale and flinching at the noises...it’s easier than admitting the truth.

But he’s not sick from all the booze he drank, he wishes he was because that would be easier to handle. Instead it’s his mind that is tormenting him. From drugs, drinks, sex it’s all just a mechanism to forget and somewhere along the way he didn’t quite succeed. He just glossed it over, now it’s back and he has numerous encounters layered upon what happened like rickety scaffolding around a dammed building.

It’s all collapsing now.

He hasn’t loss the guilt when he was nine, ten, eleven and waiting for Frank to punish him in only the sick twisted way that bastard could. He hasn’t loss the disgust at being so hungry that anything...and everything was reasonable. He hasn’t loss that fear from when he was thirteen and cowering in a cell waiting to be killed or worse. He hasn’t loss the shame at being unable to fend off the guards who were bigger and stronger than him...and yet somehow he should have been able to protect himself. He hasn’t even lost the terror at being in another’s arms and feeling their body against his.

Instead the only thing he’s lost in the encounters with numerous people he’s indulged in over the years...is himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I've had this one on my hardrive for awhile and was a little hesitant to post it...for many reasons. I see Kirk differently than a lot of people. TOS Kirk may have had many loves because that was in his personality, but he also formed relationships with many of them. I think AOS Kirk would have just as many or more sexual entanglements but without the romance component. I think AOS Kirk uses sex and being with another person as more of a coping mechanism. In the first movie Gaila mentions that she loves him and he looks startled as says "weird". That to me implies that he wasn't expecting love or companionship and was there for the physical aspect (and of course to get the codes from Gaila). One can argue that he said weird because he had only started a relationship with Gaila for his own selfish ends, but I think overall it's more than that. Kirk isn't used to being loved or feeling love...he's looking for a quick fix and doesn't know or want to know anything else. 
> 
> Lastly, I hope you enjoyed the fic...

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [I Can't Hate Myself More Than I Do (But I'll Try)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3491162) by [infiniteworld8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteworld8/pseuds/infiniteworld8)




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